


A Summer's Night

by RStiltskinned



Category: Vivaldi: Die Fünfte Jahreszeit
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Catholic Guilt, F/M, Mutual Pining, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest but not a Priest Kink, Well there's a bit of plot, and the award for the least original title goes to: me, lmao I will fill the Vivaldi tag singlehandedly if I have to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RStiltskinned/pseuds/RStiltskinned
Summary: Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Problem: he is a priest and she is his student and this is 18th century Italy. It takes an awkward moment to finally set things off for Antonio Vivaldi and Catarina Russo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Catarina/Cati, for those of you who don't know, is the main Pieta girl in the show. The last name Russo was chosen bc I head canon her as being Sicilian and that is a very common surname there.

Antonio Vivaldi sighed as he sank into the tub the maid had kindly prepared for him. After a day spent crammed in a carriage, a hot bath was most welcome, the heat relaxing his stiff muscles, even though a few hours ago he would have shuddered at the thought of it on this sweltering August day. It had taken them the entire day to get to this tiny inn halfway between Venice and Padua, where they were expected tomorrow. The Brenta channel, the waterway normally open for travel between the two cities, had been all but depleted by an unusually hot summer and so, instead of a pleasant, breezy trip on a _burchiello_ they had set out in a convoy of carriages – him, the girls and some of the sisters of the convent acting as chaperones.

Annina had elected to seek her fortune in Vienna without him a few months ago, and even though he had not loved her as he thought he had, her abandonment still stung. His music had suffered and he had neglected his duties as teacher and the orchestra’s composer; this concert was the first in months and he could hardly afford to complain about the circumstances now. The girls and their habited escorts had long since retired to their beds, as had the innkeeper and his family; he alone was left sleepless, the sheets sticking to his sweat-covered body and his mind too full. He knew sleep would not come as he was and had roused the maid to help him with a bath, then sent the disgruntled girl back to bed with a coin and an apologetic smile. Now at last he was able to relax, soothed by the warmth and the quiet sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the tub. The heat and the exhaustion from the journey were not the only things that had kept him awake; his mind had been most preoccupied with a woman – not Annina, as one might have expected, but someone who was under the same roof as him presently.

Catarina – _Signorina Russo, a strict voice in his head tried to reprimand him_ – had been on his mind all day – not that she wasn’t on any other day too, ever since he had first met her that night at the Ridotto. He’d long come to accept that his feelings towards the young contrabass player went far beyond any teacherly pride or even fatherly affection; he had been infatuated with her from the moment he’d first seen her, and over time those sentiments had deepened and blossomed into something entirely more profound and far more dangerous. Her being so obviously smitten with him had made matters worse, ironically – all of the girls were, his penchant for flirtation and natural charm (and his cheekbones) tended to have that effect. However, he knew the girls’ fascination with him was a youthful infatuation that would pass as they grew, and he dreaded the day Catarina would no longer blush at his praise, would no longer seek out his proximity, would no longer look at him the way he sometimes caught her doing. He found himself hoping she might share his feelings, then cursed himself for being so foolish. In lessons, her proximity had distracted him countless times and he had stopped touching her to correct her playing, as he wanted to turn her face to his and capture her lips _and then_ , and then he wanted to pull her to him and - He groaned in frustration and splashed water in his face. He wanted her, he couldn’t deny it – wanted her heart and her soul and yes, her body, all to himself. He, Antonio Vivaldi, was lusting after a student like some deprived lecher – well, he wanted far more than just to satisfy his needs with her, but he definitely wanted that too, and he despised himself for it. She would surely be horrified if she knew the teacher she trusted and respected looked at her and imagined parting her from her white dress.

The composer sighed; today’s events hadn’t exactly helped his predicament. She had shared a carriage with him. He’d already been seated inside, a nun and another one of the girls opposite him, when she (a little late and out of breath) had run to the carriage. He’d been both terrified and delighted at the prospect of her next to him, and had extended his hand to help her in, but he’d pulled her up a little too firmly and she’d toppled over, her hand landing on his thigh in the process. Her touch, innocent though it had been, had sent heat straight through him, and he’d avoided looking at her as she’d settled down next to him; the long hours in the carriage had mostly been spent in uncomfortable silence, and he’d stared out of the window to distract himself from the fact that her leg was pressed against his. Now though, in the privacy of the inn’s bathroom in the middle of the night, with no watchful nuns and no one else to disturb him, he couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering. What if they had been alone in that carriage? Would she have withdrawn her hand as she had then, or would it linger? Would she smile at him and lower her head to his, their breaths mingling – _oh_ , he would cup her cheek then, and pull her in for a kiss as he’d dreamed of doing so often. She would sink into his arms and his lap, and when he had tasted her lips, his mouth would move to her throat and then further, his hands on her waist as hers gripped his hair…. His body reacted immediately to that lovely fantasy. He lifted his hips a little, and the sudden coolness of the air against his wet, hardening cock felt very nice; he let his head rest against the edge of the tub and sighed in pleasure. His left hand grasped the side of the tub, his other slid down his chest and stomach to his thighs; he had never believed that touching oneself was a sin – how could satisfying one’s needs at nobody’s cost, and without putting anyone at risk, be something bad? He grasped himself and moved his hand in a slow, steady rhythm – he wanted to indulge himself and make this last as long as he could.

Completely relaxed, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasure he was giving himself, and was just about to let his mind take his little fantasy further, when a shocked “Oh!” met his ears. He instantly released himself and drew up his knees, trying to hide his shame; he turned to see who had walked in on him.

His mouth dropped open.

Standing in the doorway, still immediately recognizable without wig and clad only in her nightgown, was Catarina.


	2. Chapter 2

It was no use, Catarina decided – she simply couldn’t sleep. It was too stuffy in this room, and Appollonia was snoring again, and her nightgown was clinging to her.

 

And on top of that, her mind was once again filled with fantasies about a certain flame-haired music teacher. Today’s journey in that blasted carriage had been torture. He’d gallantly offered his hand to her to help her in and her heart had fluttered at the gesture and the chance to touch him – and then she’d ruined it by stumbling and oh God, her hand had grasped his thigh. She hadn’t meant to, she really hadn’t – it had been an accident – but she’d felt him tense beneath her and then he had averted his eyes as she had sat down with her face bright red, Sister Benedicta reprimanding her for her clumsiness. The usually talkative man hadn’t spoken during the long carriage ride, hadn’t even looked at her, in fact, and her urge to cry had been so strong she couldn’t even properly enjoy the fact that she had an excuse to be extremely close to him for a few hours.

 

Oh God, what if he hated her now? What if he thought she’d touched him on purpose and thought her indecent? She knew the famous _prete rosso_ didn’t take his vow of celibacy too seriously (with a scowl she remembered how he and that goose Giro had all but undressed each other with their eyes during rehearsals), but she was sure that for all his flirting he thought of her and the other girls as students and friends only. He patiently indulged their shared infatuation for him, unaware that she pined for him in a much more sincere way. Catarina had long stopped pretending that her feelings for Signor Vivaldi were a mere crush; she wanted him so much it made her despair – even more so knowing he would likely never return her feelings. Lately he’d even been more formal with her than before, and she feared her adoration had started making him uncomfortable – how would he react now that she had touched him like that, even if she hadn’t intended to? Would he avoid her altogether? The thought made her want to cry again.

 

And yet, even with her mind filled with anxiety, a tiny part of her couldn’t help but feel excited as she remembered the feeling of him beneath her, brief though the contact had been; she had felt the firmness of his muscles beneath her hand, had felt the warmth of him even through his trousers and cassock. When he’d tensed, she’d known it was from shock but _oh_ , what would it be like to feel that man tense beneath her fingers for entirely different reasons? Catarina knew she really ought not to be having such thoughts – not about any man, and certainly not about a priest – but she couldn’t help it; her body seemed to yearn for him just as much as her heart did. The sisters had taught the girls that men – _all_ men – were prey to sinful urges and that it was their duty to refuse them and set a good example through virtue and piety. None of them had ever mentioned that women could have such urges too; they had never told her that her she would long to be kissed, to be held, to be touched in ways that made her blush to think about. She’d been utterly unprepared for the breathless excitement that overcame her at every tiny touch of his, however innocent, unprepared also for the fevered dreams that plagued her at night and left her frustrated and wanting. Once, when she’d found herself alone in the dormitory, she’d weakened and let her hand slip beneath her skirts and between her legs, and her mind had eagerly supplied her with a fantasy of his fingers being there instead of her own; the sensations she’d felt had been very nice but incredibly short-lived as she’d heard someone talk outside the door and had immediately set herself to rights, flushed and unfulfilled. She was ashamed to think of it now – if her thoughts were sinful, then her actions back then were even more so.

 

All of these thoughts had kept her awake and Catarina felt on edge – she needed to do something, though whether it was having a good cry or taking up the explorations of her own body again, she could not say. Either way, she couldn’t do it here. Catarina got up carefully, making sure not to wake the others – though if Appollonia’s snoring hadn’t woken them, nothing would – and snuck towards the door. She thought of bringing a candle for a moment, then decided against it – it was probably too risky. After slipping out and softly pulling the door shut behind her, she padded down the dark hallway as quietly as she could towards the inn’s only bathroom. At this hour of night, she was sure to have uninterrupted privacy there.

If her mind hadn’t been so teeming with conflicted thoughts, she might have noticed the faint glimmer of light coming from beneath the bathroom door; as it was, she opened the door oblivious to the fact that the room was already occupied – and not just by anyone, but by _him_.

There were a few candles lit in the room, but that barely registered with her – her eyes could only focus on the familiar mop of red hair resting on the edge of the large metal tub, the pale, naked arm resting on its side, the fingers she’d been thinking of just a moment ago tightly curled around the edge. Soft moans were coming from him – was he hurt? Concern allowed Catarina to overcome her shyness and she took a step forward; now she could look over his shoulder, and – oh. _Oh_.

Catarina felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. She’d just caught a good look of her maestro’s most intimate body part, but that was not all – his hand was wrapped around it and he was stroking himself. _Oh God. Oh, bloody effing hell_. She was not so naïve not to know what she was witnessing; she had just walked in on Antonio Vivaldi pleasuring himself.

Her heart was racing and her eyes transfixed on the scene before her – she knew it was terribly wrong to stare at him like that, knew that she should leave before he noticed her and go back to bed and never mention this, but she couldn’t move. The sight of him doing something so utterly naughty made her mind spin and she found herself assaulted by a thousand thoughts and desires – part of her wanted to run, but a much larger part wanted to step closer and touch him and God help her, a decidedly wicked part of her wanted beyond all reason for him to think of her as he did this to himself. In the end, she neither ran nor stepped closer, but before she could help it, a gasp left her.

He flinched so violently water sloshed over the side of the tub and turned to see who had disturbed him. His mouth fell open and for a moment, they both stared at each other in mortification before he scrambled to his feet (some distant part of her that didn’t want to die of shame noticed his backside was every bit as attractive as she and the others had assumed it was beneath his robes) and reached for the towel on the stool beside the tub. She could see he’d gone as red as his hair as he hastily wrapped the cloth around his hips to cover himself, the ends falling into the water he was still standing in. Catarina’s brain was screaming at her to apologise and leave and _stop staring, goddammit_ , but she was still frozen to the spot.

Finally, he turned to speak to her and she immediately lowered her eyes, unable to look at him.

 “Catarina! I am – I am so sorry,” he spluttered.

Sorry? _He_ was _s_ orry? _She_ had walked in on him! She looked up from the floor and oh, that was a mistake, because the sight of him only wrapped in a towel and with water running down him blew away what little coherent she’d had left. He was every bit as gorgeous as she’d imagined him to be beneath his clothes; not as skinny as he seemed, his muscles well-defined – surprisingly so, given his profession. His pale skin was flushed, his breathing rapid from shock and, she realised with a blush, his previous activities which made his chest expand and fall in a way that drew her gaze. There was a smattering of hair on his chest, darker than that on his head, and a thin trail of hair from his navel downwards that vanished beneath the towel. Her eyes snapped back up to his, shocked when she realised she’d been staring at his midsection in a most shameless manner.

“S-signor Vivaldi – I am so, so sorry – I didn’t mean to intrude, I had no idea-“

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known, I am so sorry you had to see that-“

“I don’t mind, I-“

 _I don’t mind? Catarina, you idiot_ , her brains screamed at her.

He looked at her oddly and she wanted to sink into the floor and never have to look into his eyes again. They were never going to get over this, it was all over, he was going to hate her forever now. Tears sprang into her eyes.

“What are you doing here at this time of the night?”

Normally she would have had a cheeky reply for him, would have said she could be asking him the same thing, except she knew exactly what he’d been doing and the knowledge made her choke on her words. He was waiting for an answer though, and she tried to pull herself together.

“I – I couldn’t sleep…I wanted…” she trailed off. What _had_ she wanted?  
“A bath?” he assumed.

“No – yes – I don’t know,” she stammered. “I just needed somewhere private.”  
He did not answer and his gaze was unreadable as he looked at her; she realised that his eyes were wandering over her and was suddenly very aware that she was standing before him in naught but her night gown and without her wig or makeup on. Feeling self-conscious, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked down again; what did she look like to him? Child-like? Plain? She hadn’t realised how afraid she had been of him seeing her like this, and now finally the tears _did_ start falling. It was too much, it was all too much, and now she was standing in front of the man she loved, crying, while he was naked in a bathtub and he was going to think she was insane and never speak to her again and she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide forever.

In her state, Catarina didn’t hear the water splashing as he stepped out of the tub, didn’t hear the wet padding on the wooden floor, and so was terribly startled when his bare feet came into view and she found him right in front of her. He’d fastened the towel more securely around his waist and now his hand was hesitantly hovering over her shoulder and she could not speak, could not breathe, tears running down her face.

His hand closed the distance at last and she felt water seep through her nightgown; it felt heavier than it should, his touch fairly burning her. To her utter bewilderment she felt his other hand on her cheek, wiping away her tears and she raised her eyes to look at him and gasped softly. Vivaldi was looking down at her with infinite gentleness – no, tenderness, even – as he was stroking her face and oh, he was so close and he was so beautiful it hurt and she wanted to touch his bare skin so badly, she wanted, oh she _wanted_ -

 

“Catarina.” Her name was all but a sigh as it fell from his lips; no one had ever said her name in such a tone, and she realised she wanted no one but him to say it like that.

 

_Fuck. Fuck bugger dammit all to hell._

 

Throwing all caution to the wind, Catarina pulled his face to hers and crashed her mouth against his.


	3. Chapter 3

Mortification, dread, anxiety, bewilderment – everything he had been feeling in the last minute since she’d entered the room had gone flying out of the window.

 

_She was kissing him._

 

Catarina, the girl he he’d wanted almost since he met her, had caught him pleasuring himself and instead of being disgusted or afraid she was kissing him. His mind was spinning and his body had turned a statue from shock. What on earth was driving her? One moment before she had been crying and he had wanted to soothe her and kiss her tears away but had been dreadfully afraid that he would startle her. He couldn’t help but touch her anyway, his need to comfort her greater than his fears. Something was clearly troubling her that went beyond just catching him like this and he had wanted to ask her and provide comfort, but then she had suddenly pulled him down into a kiss delivered with obvious inexperience but much ferocity.

His lack of response made her step back and a jumbled apology fell from her lips but he wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t let her apologise; if this was his only chance to kiss her, then by God he’d take it. Cradling her face in his hands he covered her mouth with his; she froze for a moment before responding, her hands sliding up his chest in a surprising but welcome gesture which made him sigh against her. He held the kiss as long as his afflicted breathing would allow, and when at last he pulled back he was met with a glorious sight.

Catarina had stopped crying, but her dark eyes were still glassy and wide open and he noticed that even without the dark makeup she favoured her lashes were long and dark. Her skin was flushed and her lips were parted and a little swollen from his attentions. Some of her dark curls had come loose from her braid – he’d never seen her without her wig and was amazed by just how much hair she managed to hide beneath it every day. She was beautiful, and he knew that no matter what happened now, he would treasure the sight before him forever.

“Oh” came her sound of surprise again. Vivaldi was torn between elation and despair – he had kissed her, and she _had_ responded to it, but for all he knew her next words might condemn him, and she would have been well within her rights to run and rouse the sisters and have his shameful behaviour punished. Panic clawed at him and he stepped back, running his hands through his hair.

“Dear God, Catarina, forgive me. I don’t know what came over me, I am so sorry-“  
  
“Don’t you _dare_!”

Her sudden outburst startled him; her expression was ferocious and somewhat desperate all at once, her eyes blazing.

“Don’t – don’t you dare say you’re sorry, because I’m _not_ – I’ve wanted this for so long, _wanted you_ – oh, _please_ ,” she begged, her eyes filling with tears again, “Let me have this. I don’t care if it was only a shock reaction for you, let me pretend it meant something, please, I – I” Her hands covered her face and she sobbed in earnest, her shoulders shaking.

He was stunned and could do nothing but gape at her.

She wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her and had wanted him to do so for a while now. Her stolen glances, her innocent touches, her flirtations – had they meant more after all? Or was he reading too much into her words, was the hope blossoming in chest clouding his judgement? Carefully, he pried her hands from her face; following an impulse, he kissed them and pulled them to his chest and then she suddenly was in his arms, her head pressed against his bare chest and for once everything just fell into place. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted the other to tangle his fingers in her dark hair. She sighed and her exhalation against his wet skin sent shivers through him; he could feel her mumbling something against him which he didn’t quite hear and even if he had, the feeling of her lips moving against his skin would have distracted him too much to understand. There are so many things he wanted to tell her, words burning his tongue and demanding release.

 

“Catarina…I do not regret kissing you. Not one bit.”

She looked up. “You don’t? But you said….?”

“I thought you would be repelled by my behaviour.”

“Oh…! Oh, no, not at all! In fact, I…” she blushed “I have wanted you to kiss me for a long time.”

A smile spread across his face at her words and his heart soared.

“You did?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Yes. I want that and to be with you…I dreamed of you noticing me as more than your student,” she went on, disbelief and joy flooding him with every word she spoke, “Every time you touch me I cannot breathe and I find myself thinking of you all the time and wanting to be near you. I dreamed of you,” she blushed and lowered her eyes, “Of you and I…well. But you had the goose – I mean, Signorina Giro – and you never looked at me twice so I resolved never to tell you how I felt, and when the incident happened earlier today I thought you were uncomfortable with me touching you and I – I” She was struggling and trailed off, now nearly crimson. Her declaration had left him speechless; her words spoke of an attraction that goes beyond infatuation, and part of him wanted to tell her he loved her then and there but he knew it would be too much. Taking a deep breath, he chose his next words carefully.

 

“Catarina, you never made me uncomfortable, not once. If anything, it was _I_ who was afraid of scaring you. You…” he swallowed, “You have been on my mind. A lot.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He looked for a sign of apprehension or alarm and when he found none, he continued. “Ever since I met you, I have found myself drawn to you – your wit, your humour, your beauty – but I was aware of how inappropriate it would be for me, as a priest and your teacher, to approach you – especially as I cannot offer myself to you in any respectable way.”

She wanted to say something then, but he gently pressed his finger against her lips to silence her; if he wasn’t honest now, he’d never find the courage again.

“I withdrew from you during lessons because when I am near you, I want to...I want to kiss you, quite desperately, among other things….I thought if you knew, you would be disgusted. When you touched me this morning I was not uncomfortable, I was…to be frank, I was aroused because I _want_ you, and have wanted you for a long time now, and your proximity utterly disarms me. And what you saw earlier was, well…the aftermath of that.”

 _There_. It was done. He’d said it. There were many other things he longed to tell her – he had told her the truth, but not all of it, but he didn’t dare laying all his cards on the table until he had had a response from her. They were both blushing and avoiding each other’s eyes until finally she spoke.

“You want me…you…when I came in earlier, you, er, you were thinking of me?”

He went from pink to scarlet. “Yes.”

“You…you desire me.”

“That too, yes.”

“You care for me?”

He met her gaze. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Oh,” a smile blossomed on her face and was answered by one of his, “ _Oh_ , I wish you’d told me before – I couldn’t sleep, thinking I’d offended you and wanting you at the same time – you mean so much to me, Signor-“

“Antonio.”

She blinked in surprise for a moment but then continued. “Antonio – I care for you too, and I want you too. I once thought of you and I together, and I did – well, I did what I saw you doing earlier…and I know it’s wrong but I couldn’t help myself and now that I know you want me too, I just want you to know – I’m not scared, or disgusted. Not one bit. I want you to desire me. And act on that desire. I must sound like a harlot to you, but I don’t care – I want you too much to care.”

Oh dear God, he wanted to pull her close and kiss her this instant and then divest her of that nightgown and kiss her everywhere until she came apart beneath him and then, oh then he wanted to take her to his bed and have her and whisper words of love and devotion against her skin as he found fulfilment within her. But he couldn’t – not yet, not while there were so many things left unsaid and the danger of being discovered was so great. Still, her words left him breathless with excitement and desire – particularly her confession that she too had been so affected by him that she had touched herself… _oh dear lord_ , he can picture it, can see her with her skirts pulled up, the sliver of thigh above her dark stockings visible – would she take off her drawers, or tease herself through the slit in the fabric? Her coming undone to thoughts of him…His member had softened from the shock earlier but now he could feel it spring to attention as lovely images flooded his brain.

He was dimly aware she was still close enough that she’d be able to feel his predicament and wanted to step away, but her hands held him in place. There was no fear, only determination and want in her eyes as she pressed herself against him more firmly so that her breasts were brushing against him and his erection was pushing against her belly. The last of his resolve crumbled and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, his mouth descending on hers in a hungry kiss. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she pulled him closer still; his own hands slid lower in response, now gently squeezing her backside. She squeaked in surprise, and he took the opportunity to draw is tongue against her bottom lip; her mouth parted beneath his and he tasted her, to which she responded after a moment, a small moan leaving her throat. They broke for air and his mouth peppered kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck and on her throat until she threw her head back and made breathy little noises that drove him absolutely wild. Her hands ran over his back and she took the same liberties with him as he had with her; he hummed his approval as he felt her fingers dig into the flesh of his backside and rolled his hips in response, eliciting a gasp from her. Catarina, he could tell, might have been untouched, but she was not innocent, and she would not be a passive lover – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was his turn to gasp when her lips were suddenly on his throat and he threw his head back to give her easier access, whimpering when she kissed his pulse. The young woman pressed her lips to his collar bone and his shoulders and when she kissed his chest and her mouth was less than an inch from his nipple, he had to swallow back a loud moan. His hands slid up her sides, pulling her nightgown up a little as he did so; he pushed her from him a little so he could palm her breasts and she mewled delightfully. His wet skin had turned the fabric transparent and he could clearly see the tips of her breasts through it; entranced, he brushed his thumb over them and she gasped loudly enough that he feared someone might her them.

“Hushhhh….we have to be careful, _cara_ ….” He swallowed thickly at the sight of her, her eyes darker than he’d ever seen them, her skin flushed and her hair undone – her braid had dissolved during their activities. Her gently tugged at the fabric of her nightwear. “May I?”

“Yes”, she nodded breathlessly, “Yes, please!”

Without another word, he lifted the nightgown up and pulled it over her head, Catarina helpfully lifting her arms to make it easier for him. She was now completely naked before him and suddenly shy again, her arms coming up to cover her breasts. He stopped her and regarded her tenderly. “You are beautiful, and there is nothing to be ashamed of, " he told her. This seemed to relax her and she let him look at her. She really _was_ beautiful, and his eyes admiringly raked over her smooth shoulders, her small, round breasts, then over the soft expanse of her belly and the curve of her waist and hips; he paused as his eyes rest on the patch of dark curls between her thighs before wandering down her shapely legs.

“Beautiful,” he reaffirmed hoarsely and kissed her mouth.

“Breathtaking.” A kiss on her neck that made her sigh.

“Exquisite.” One for each of her shoulders, and now she was trembling.

He bent down further. “Stunning.” He kissed the tips of her breasts and she made that lovely mewling sound again and pulled his hair. “Antonio, please – I need – want” She was struggling for words but her intent was clear to him regardless.

The composer paused for a moment; he wouldn’t take her – not here, not now. She deserved better than to be deflowered in the bathroom of a dingy inn. But he wanted to give her fulfillment tonight, and he would. An idea crossed his mind and he straightened and undid the towel, letting it drop to the ground and feeling pleased as he noticed how she drank in the sight of him, her eyes inevitably drawn to his arousal. He offered his hand to her. “Come.”

There was no hesitance in her at all, he noted with joy, only trust and desire as she took the proffered hand and let him help her into the tub. The water, while no longer hot, was luckily still pleasantly warm. He sat down and instructed her to sit between his legs; she did as he asked without question, and he cradled her between his thighs, his erection pushing against her backside. He leaned back and pulled her with him so she was resting against him, her head on his shoulder. She was trembling, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. How many times had he stood with his arms around her, instructing her? Tonight would be no different.

“Catarina…”

“Antonio…?”

He kissed her shoulder before whispering in her ear.

“Tell me, darling, when you experimented on yourself…when you dreamed of me…where did your hands wander to? Where did you imagine me touching you?”

She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Antonio?”

“Do you trust me, Catarina?”

The girl nodded. “Always.”

She relaxed against him again and he continued his game, gently squeezing her right breast.

“Did you imagine me touching you like this?”

She gasped. “Yes!”

He smiled and repeated his actions on her other breast, drawing another little gasp from her. His fingers circled her nipples before he brushed his calloused fingertips over them, and he noted with pleasure how her breath hitched. “This too, then?”

“Oh, yes!”

He pinched one nipple and she arched her back, whimpering; the motion pushed her bottom against his erection and he hissed in pleasure.

“Ah…that also…hmmmm…” he hummed against her neck. His hand stroked over her belly and downwards, dipping into the water and palming the nest of curls between her legs. He could feel her thighs trembling against his as his hand covered her most private area.

He kissed the tip of her ear. “Here too?”

“Yes – oh yes, please!”

Her eagerness and her plea nearly undo him, and his fingers gently stroked and teased between her legs, eliciting small whimpers from her; he brushed his finger against her swollen nub and she made a strangled sound that was somewhere between a hiss and a moan. Using his free arm, he placed her hand on the one playing with her.

“Show me how, darling. Show me how you want me to touch you.”

She stayed still and for a moment he feared he’d gone too far, but then her hand moved against his, showing him how she wanted him to move his fingers and how fast. He took his cues from her fingers and the steady flow of noises coming from her, repeating everything that made her gasp and shudder. His mouth nuzzled against her neck and she lifted her head to give him better access. He lavished her with kisses and tiny bites, each making her squirm in a most delicious way. His free hand returned to caressing her breast; it took all what was left of his concentration to pay attention to three parts of her body at once, but the way she was writhing against him made it absolutely worth it, not least of all because it caused her to rub against his cock in a most delicious way.

Catarina seemed to have lost every inhibition as she wriggled and mewled beneath his ministrations, her hand now urging his to speed up the pace and seeking more friction; he complied and she hissed. “Please, Antonio, I’m – I, _oh God_ , oh!”

Vivaldi hadn’t the presence of mind to remind her to keep silent; he was far too focused on her and the way she was responding to him. She was close, he could tell; it wouldn’t take much to tip her over the edge. He pinched and rolled her nipple to the same rhythm to which he was caressing her clit and the synchronised ministrations had her panting and shuddering. “Fuck – oh God, fuck, yes, _please_ , yes” He was familiar with her cursing so he was not shocked at all, only gratified at her obvious pleasure. He kissed her once more before gently biting down on the crook of her shoulder; at the same time, his finger slipped inside her.

It was enough – she came undone against and around him, her body shaking uncontrollably, her head thrown back. She pressed her mouth against her arm to stifle the cry that wanted to get out of her throat, and so it came out as a choked sob before she finally went slack against him. He held her as her breathing slowly became steadier, kissing her temple and stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. Suddenly, she pulled away and turned around to face him, rolling over so she was kneeling between his legs. She looked flushed and radiant and she was beaming at him, and he returned her smile with his own.

 “Can we do that again please?”

 He laughed, pleased and amused at her eagerness. “Of course we can – maybe not here and now, but we shall. After all,” he winked at her, “There are many lessons I can teach you yet.” She bit her lip and giggled. “I look forward to it, maestro,” she responded coyly and burst out giggling again. Her eyes dropped to his lap, to his own unattended need. “Antonio – you haven’t – you’re still wanting,” she began, but he waved her off. “Tonight was for you, Catarina, it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to worry about it.” She looked almost insulted at his words. “But I _want_ to worry about it,” she insisted, and reached out to touch him. He shuddered and his breath hitched as her hand wrapped around him. “Show me, Antonio,” she echoed his earlier instructions to her, and he couldn’t speak but guided her hand with his own until she was working him in a steady rhythm. He thrust against her hand, his mouth open in wordless pleasure, his head falling back. Without stopping, she leaned closer and kissed his neck as she stroked him, making him whimper with need. He urged her to go faster and she did – he was already so worked up from all that had passed between them that he knew he wouldn’t last long – and then suddenly, he felt her lips ghost against his ear and cried out softly. She took this as a cue to press a kiss to the tip of his ear and this undid him; her name left his lips as he spent himself over her hand. It took him a moment to regain his senses, and when he did, he becomes aware that she was seeking some sort of appraisal. He kissed her, once, twice and again. “Thank you…thank you my darling. That was wonderful. And you found my sensitive spot, you clever girl,” he told her with a grin. She looked very pleased with herself.

“Oh?”

He tugged at his earlobe and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll remember that!”

He laughed softly; he was certain she would, and the implication of a next time sent a shiver down his spine. Vivaldi sighed – he wanted nothing more than to pull her against him and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, or better yet, take her to his bed and sleep with her in his arms, but he knew this was impossible. The staff would likely rouse themselves soon and if they were found together it would ruin both of them, not to mention what consequences such a scandal might mean for the Pietà and the orchestra. They had already risked much with their entirely unplanned bathroom tryst. If they both went back to their rooms now, they would be safe – there was no evidence of what had passed here save for the proof of his presence in the bathwater, though he knew he had tipped the maid generously enough for her not to ask questions. He brushed his thumb over Catarina's cheek and regarded the young woman before him with more seriousness.

“We don’t have much time, Catarina, but please believe me when I say what has passed between us now was not some game on my part. I do care for you very much and when we are somewhere less in risk of being caught, I want to talk to you properly. I think I am not mistaken in saying you too want to explore this further?” She nodded vigorously and squeezed his hand.

“Very much so, Antonio.”

He smiled and gave her another kiss; he'd never tire of kissing her. With a deep sigh, he rose and helped her up and out of the tub; they cleaned themselves up in comfortable silence and when she had tugged her nightgown back over her head he braided her hair for her – he’d done so often for his sisters – and revelled in the quiet moment of intimacy. It would likely be their last until their journey had been concluded, he knew.

At the door she turned back to kiss him again, and he could barely get enough of her; it was another few minutes before they finally broke apart and she looked up at him with happiness written all across her features. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek one last time and he smiled at the sweet gesture.

“Good night, Antonio.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it, earning him a blush and a giggle.

“Good night, Catarina.”

And with that, Catarina vanished in the darkness of the corridor, leaving Antonio Vivaldi to stare after her longingly.


End file.
